I nearly made an omelet.1This post is excerpted from a letter I wrote to a friend on a whim.
Omelets are simple and almost unattainable. I last made one two weeks ago while attempting scrambled eggs. Is there a metaphor in there?
I cut up two bacon strips, half a green bell pepper, and bits of onion from a baggie in the fridge. I did not wear goggles. I cooked the bacon first, then mixed in the veggies to sauté for a few minutes. This was all done in my trusty fifteen-dollar medium nonstick pan, which, naturally, was also where I wanted to cook the eggs. So, I transferred the filling into a separate pan on low heat, added a bit of oil to the main pan since much of the bacon grease had gone with the bacon, and poured in the eggs.
I’ve since identified three issues.
First, our current eggs are larger than we’ve had. I added my normal splash of milk before whisking the eggs but had a nagging thought that there was a smidge too much egg.
Second, I used the back-left burner for the eggs when I always use the front-left. The former is the second-largest burner on our gas range. I didn’t sufficiently adjust the heat. Instead of a uniformly pleasing eggy yellow one would expect in a diner or cafe of any price range, I had a slightly overcooked exterior with a vaguely gelatinous interior.
Even so, I tossed my mix-ins and a torn-up piece of white American cheese—an East coast delicacy with a strikingly dissimilar look to orange plastic—onto the left half and carefully folded the egg over.
It didn’t break. Hope sprang eternal.
I then agonized several seconds too long over transferring this newly-christened omelet to my plate. The eggs cooked. I didn’t use my spatula to ease it off the pan. The eggs cooked. I committed to a flip.
I’d appreciate it if you paused to gather a minuscule violin and a box of tissues.
Bits of egg stuck to the pan as the flip became a flop.
A rend in the top of this would-be omelet matched the newest scar on my heart as I failed to honor the memory of these two eggs. But I didn’t let my inadequacy ruin my enjoyment. It was omelet enough for me and I ate it as such. Paired with homemade bread and jam the meal was delightful.
Oh, the third issue: I was cooking before 6AM on five hours of sleep. The world isn’t ready for the breakfast I would make with a full night’s rest.
- 1This post is excerpted from a letter I wrote to a friend on a whim.